Blessed Anonymity
by everlovingdeer
Summary: The answering reassuring smile was false. It was too tight, too small and too … not Harry that I didn't buy it for a moment. Despite knowing that I would be able to see right through it, he continued to give me that imposter of a smile. "It's a long story." "I have enough time." "Another time," he gave me an empty promise.
1. Blessed Anonymity

I had a love-hate relationship with winter. It snowed during winter and whilst I loved the snow, I hated the cold. Winter was also the season of Christmas and good spirit but _God _it got dark early. Far too early. During summer, when I finished work at 5, I had multiple good hours of sunlight left to enjoy but leaving work during winter greeted me with a dark night sky that made the walk home that much more terrifying. But still, I braved myself for the walk, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to myself by walking like I was being chased by Dracula himself.

Only, my internal worrying wasn't necessary. Not tonight, at least because as I left the building, my eyes instantly shifted to the waiting person. At first, upon realising that someone was waiting outside, my shoulders stiffened into the characteristic fear that so many women knew but upon recognising the person, the fear eased out of me all too easily. I had no reason to be scared now.

"Harry!" I called out towards my waiting boyfriend who greeted me back with a smile that never failed to awaken the slumbering butterflies in my stomach.

With quick, excited steps, I closed the distance between us and let myself be enveloped in his warm embrace. Harry laughed against my hair in my blatant attempt to burrow myself into him.

"How are you so warm?" I mumbled against his sweater, letting out an appreciative sigh when his hands rubbed soothingly up and down my coat clad back; I was _already _freezing.

"I guess I run warmer than you do." I felt his shrug, finally drawing away from him. Taking the arm Harry offered me, I huddled closer to his side as we walked the short distance towards our shared home.

"What are you even doing here, Potter?" Sniffling against the cold, I turned curiously towards him.

"I didn't feel right waiting for you at home," he confessed, meeting my waiting eyes. Smiling softly, I watched the way the streetlight danced across the frame of his glasses. "It's not safe."

"You're a worrywart." He didn't rise to my teasing, accepting it in stride. "Maybe I should have done this boyfriend thing sooner if it meant someone would walk me."

"Don't go getting useless ideas in your head," Harry warned, just the right side of playful as we reached home. Only when we reached the front door did Harry remove his arm from around me. Reaching into his pocket, he fished out the key and opened the door, stepping aside so I could head in first.

Kicking off my shoes, I shrugged out of my coat. Calling over my shoulder that I would join Harry once I'd changed into comfortable clothes, I took the stairs two at a time in my haste. Grabbing a fresh pair of pyjamas, I hopped into the shower to warm myself up. I _hated _the cold.

When I finally returned downstairs, I followed the sound of Harry's voice to the kitchen. Reaching the adjoining hallway, my steps slowed because I knew, the moment he realised I was nearby, Harry would stop his gentle humming. And somehow, he had the uncanny ability of knowing when I – when anyone really was nearby and so, I had to stop halfway down the hall. A good metre or two away from the kitchen.

It wasn't often that I got to listen to Harry humming to himself in such a carefree manner as if he had no worries and it was a welcome treat for my ears. The Harry I'd met for the first time – almost five years ago had been a very different man. Despite being fresh out of school, there was something so haunting about the look in his eyes. He'd hidden most of whatever demons he was running from, behind his glasses and now, I was so grateful that those demons very rarely came to disturb the safe haven we'd created for ourselves.

There was, of course, the nights where Harry would bolt from his sleep and stare into the dark of our bedroom as if expecting someone or something to come charging out. On those nights he wouldn't return to bed and I would remain awake, too worried to sleep. I'd learned that he would need some time to himself to fight his demons away, to lock them deep, so deep inside himself that I didn't know what he was grieving – because he _was _grieving something, someone. I would have to wait patiently until enough time had passed and only then could I go to his side and silently hold him as he put himself back together once more.

I took one more selfish moment to let his humming reverberate around my brain before I continued my approach. It took one more step towards the kitchen for the humming to end and I knew how I'd find Harry – turned towards the kitchen door and bracing himself for something. And knowing how the worry would only compound in his chest, I hurried my paces and even called out his name, hoping my voice would ease him.

Sure enough, by the time I'd walked into the kitchen, he was looking towards the door. But, the clenching of his jaw, the rigid strength in his shoulders was missing as whatever terror he felt melted away at my voice.

"Harry," I called out again, fully stepping into the room and joining him as he returned once more to the chopping board. He made an indulging sound that turned into a small chuckle as I reached out for him, wrapping my arms around him from behind. Pressing my cheek to his back, I closed my eyes and bit my tongue to stop myself from asking what he was running from.

My prolonged silence had the muscles of his back shifting locking under my cheek, "Sweetheart?"

Opening my eyes, I lifted my head to press a kiss to his shoulder and silently prompting the muscles in his back to relax. Propping my nose against his jumper, I breathed in the scent of home,

"Is something wrong?" he asked, struggling and failing to hide the waver in his voice.

"Nothing's wrong," I assured him, "I just missed you today."

"I missed you too," he returned in a heartbeat, turning his head enough for him to press a kiss against my damp hair.

* * *

One of the few new years resolutions that I had managed to actually stick to was drinking 2 litres of water a day. And whilst the resolution did wonders for my skin – it made me need to pee more times than I wanted. Especially when I'd grown used to waking up in the middle of the night because my bladder was threatening to burst. As if my body had gotten settled into a schedule, I woke up needing to use the toilet. My eyes, still heavy with sleep, flickered past Harry's shoulder and towards the wall-mounted clock; 3 am. Why was it always at 3 am?

With a sigh, I prepared the struggle of wrestling out of Harry's arms which were always wrapped tightly around me, cradling me safely against his chest. It was always more trouble than it should have been with me having to gently ease myself out and away from the safety and warmth of his hold. After weeks of struggling to get out of bed without waking Harry, I'd realised that he didn't necessarily need to be holding _me_ and so I'd started to keep an extra pillow on the bed. Reaching up and grabbing the extra pillow from where it rested against the headboard, I stealthily manoeuvred out of his arms and replaced myself with the pillow. It worked a treat; Harry mumbled in his sleep for a moment before settling once more into a deep sleep.

Finally, free, I hurried out of the bed and exposed myself fully to the cold night air. Goosebumps erupted on my arms as I headed towards the door, planning on opening it only as much as I needed to; Harry woke all too readily at the influx of light from the hallway if I opened the door too much. But, on my well-treaded path towards the door, I stilled when I stepped on something the crinkled slightly under my feet. Reaching down and struggling to make the shape of whatever it was in the dark, I edged towards the door and cracked it open _just _enough for me to identify what it was. And then I stared at the letter for a little longer.

It wasn't like a normal letter. The envelope sealed with a wax seal of all things was addressed to the Ministry of something in words written in ink that clearly hadn't come from a ballpoint pen. Harry stirred behind me and I hurriedly set the letter down on the vanity beside the door and edged my way out into the hallway. Dismissing the confusing letter from my brain, I returned to my original focus; getting to the bathroom.

I was quick in the bathroom, washing and drying my hands and heading back to our bedroom. Shutting the door behind me and trapping all the light from entering the room, I hesitated to get back into bed. Instead, I felt around the vanity, reaching out for the letter that must have been important if Harry had to handwrite it. With tiptoeing, gentle steps, I walked around our bed and towards the table beside Harry's side of the bed. Putting the letter safely on the surface and knowing that Harry was likely to remember the letter if he saw it first thing when he woke up, I was satisfied and returned to my own side of the bed.

Easing the pillow out of Harry's arms and replacing it back against the headboard, I returned into Harry's searching arms. Burrowing deep into his arms and letting the warmth of his body against mine lull me back to sleep, I was out like a light.

When morning – real morning broke – I was woken with the ringing of my arm. Reaching blindly for my phone, I turned the alarm off even with my eyes shut and groaned in irritation. Harry released a sympathetic murmur as he too woke up to begin the working day. Forcing my eyes open, I left Harry's arms with much less effort than it took in the middle of the night. Sitting up, I stretched my arms above my head, sighing in relief as the tension in my back cracked and released. Looking over my shoulder at Harry who refused to sit up and greet the new day, I reached out to shake him awake.

He groaned fully this time, forcefully rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he too sat up. I let my eyes rove across his bed head, smiling to myself at the image he made; it was almost enough to have me returning to his arms for five more minutes rest. Instead, I watched as he turned to the table and reached for his glasses. Only his fingers stilled partway through the motion and instead went to the letter I'd set out in waiting for him. He picked it up hurriedly, the sight of the letter having the sleep leave him far more effectively then any helping of coffee could. Picking the envelope up, he shoved it under his pillow as if to hide it and clearing his throat, he finally placed his glasses on his face.

Finally meeting my waiting eyes, Harry murmured, "It's nothing important – just a letter from work."

"I thought as much," I muttered, edging off the bed with a reassuring smile. Slipping my feet into my slippers and prepared to leave the room, already lost in my thoughts. I spent my every night sleeping wrapped in his arms and yet I didn't even know what he did for work. Harry, likely knowing that I was preoccupied with my thoughts, reached out to grab my hand.

The contact had me stilling, turning to look at him from over my shoulder, "Harry?"

"You alright, Poe?" the affectionate use of my surname had me offering him a small smile.

"I'm just trying to remember how many eggs we have left," the lie left my lips effortlessly. "I don't know about you Potter, but I fancy having a fry up this morning. Want me to make enough for you?"

Even as he agreed with a quiet, "Please," his eyes sought out mine to try and probe my thoughts without having to ask. I didn't dare meet his eyes.

* * *

The more time I spent thinking about how little I knew about Harry's work, the more I realised how little I knew about him in general. I knew the things that mattered – things like how he wasn't speaking to most of the biological family he had left, how he'd lost his parents far too young, and how he'd spent most of his formative years at a boarding school in Scotland. But there were little things I didn't know that when put together added up to a lot. I had no idea where he worked – or the names of anyone he worked with, he very rarely spoke about the people he insisted were a second family to him, and I'd never met his friends.

In all the years I'd spent dating him, I'd yet to meet his friends despite having introduced Harry to my friends and having to spend time with my friends together. He always remained so secretive about his friends which was why it was so shocking to come home from the market with fresh vegetables to find two of his very best friends sitting in our front room as if it was normal. From the little he spoke of his friends; I instantly knew who they were. Hermione and Ron – a couple according to Harry – both looked curiously over me as I stood still in the doorway of the sitting room.

The eco-bag that I'd held aloft triumphantly to show Harry all the fruit and vegetables I'd brought from the market grew heavy in my hand and I lowered it to the floor. Hyperaware of the eyes on me, I fidgeted with my hair as it peeked out from under the hat, I'd used to smother it. Eventually, helpless but to continue standing in the doorway, I looked to Harry for help. And Harry, who had been sitting in the armchair beside the sofa that his friends were sitting on, smiled reassuringly at me as if he expected me to flee from the room.

"Sweetheart," he called out softly, rising to his feet and coming to my side. Harry reached out slowly, eventually simply holding on to the edge of my sleeve as he really did think I was going to run away from the situation. "I was waiting for you to get back from the market so I could introduce you to some of my friends."

Having him actually address me was all I needed to gather my bearings. Clearing my throat, I fixed my hair, removing the hat from my head and shoving it into my coat pocket.

"Sorry for barging in," I managed with a smile, "I was just excited about the … vegetables."

Neither of Harry's friends held my lame sentence against me. Instead, they waited expectantly as Harry put a hand to the small of my back, nudging me inside and introducing me to his friends officially this time. They, in turn, introduced themselves and there was a slight lull in the conversation.

Hermione was the first to break the silence, "We've been wanting to meet you for ages."

"Yeah, Harry writes about you all the time," Ron added on with a good-natured tease towards his best friend.

The news, however, was a surprise to me as I turned towards Harry, watching him expectantly. He must have written to them in one of the ever so secret letters that he was always writing. I'd never been one to intrude whilst he was writing because I was a firm believer that everyone needed their own privacy and intruding his privacy would do no favours for our relationship.

"You write about me?" I asked, forcing myself to give an embarrassed Harry a light smile.

"He never shuts up about you!" Ron hissed in pain when Hermione pinched his thigh to get him to shut up. It seemed they knew far more about me than I did about them.

"Only good things I hope," I managed, turning towards our guests with a smile. When I took the seat Harry had recently occupied, I caught the tension easing out of Harry who remained standing at my side.

"Only good things," Hermione assured me before she straightened up curiously as she asked, "Harry said you're a practising therapist? He tried to talk to me about your job but I'm afraid it didn't make much sense to me."

"Probably because Harry didn't explain it very well."

"Probably," Harry agreed, accepting my teasing words as he headed back to the eco bag I had abandoned. "I'm going to pop these away and I might make some tea if anyone's interested?"

"Let me help," Ron offered after Hermione gave me yet another unsubtle shove. He rubbed at his leg as if to ease the pain and followed Harry out of the room.

Left alone with an expectant Hermione, I began to speak about my work but my mind wasn't in it. I'd spoken about it so often that I could speak as if on autopilot and it was just as well because my mind had followed Harry out of the room. Once his friends left, I'd have to talk to him about all of this before it got too late.

* * *

Harry's friends had lingered in our home until evening fell and had agreed to join us for dinner after Harry reminded them just how long they had gone without catching up properly. And they did catch up over the dinner table, speaking as if they were talking in code as I picked at my food. At first, I'd tried to follow along with their conversation wanting to know as much about my elusive boyfriend as I could. But I'd quickly given up when I realised that they were talking about their lives in a way that I could never hope to understand. Their words had enough details for them to make sense of it and for me to remain oblivious to it all.

When the other couple finally made a move to leave, I left Harry to say his farewells as I remained in the kitchen, tidying away our dinner. Piling the dishes in the sink, I reached for my washing up gloves as I lost myself in the realisation that I really didn't know the man I was sharing my life with. Despite having dedicated five years of myself to him and bringing him into every facet of my life, I couldn't be certain that he had done the same. In fact, I _knew _he hadn't done the same.

Hands held my shoulders, squeezing them reassuringly and making me jump slightly. My eyes flickered upwards from the soapy water towards Harry's reflection in the kitchen window. He smiled heart-wrenchingly, nuzzling his nose into the hair tucked behind my ear; he was content and completely oblivious to the turmoil running riot within me.

"They seemed nice," I eventually murmured, answering his unasked question.

"They loved you," he confessed, reaching around me to snag the rubber gloves from my hands. "Which I knew they would."

"I'm glad." My words, quiet and slow, had Harry looking over me with worried eyes that I was sure to avoid.

"Why don't you let me wash up?" he offered, stepping away from me so I could leave the sink.

I didn't bother to protest and left him to the washing. He was humming again.

With a deep breath, I left the room and walked with purpose towards our bedroom. Rounding the bed and falling to my knees when I reached Harry's side, I pulled out the drawers under the bed. There, resting atop the other moments of Harry's life before me, was a photo album. It was one of many but this one was the only one Harry had ever let me see. It was plainer compared to the rest, thinner and with no embellishments on the front cover like the others had. Still, despite my curiosity, I didn't allow myself to cross the line he'd drawn firmly. So, I reached only for the one I had seen before.

Crossing my legs under me, I flicked to the first page and stared down at a picture I'd seen before; a younger Harry surrounded by a whole horde of people. The last I'd seen this picture, Harry had pointed out each of the Weasley, two of his father's best friends and his headmaster. At that point I hadn't pried, and instead eagerly soaked in all the information that passed his usually so tightly sealed lips. But, as my eyes lingered on his younger self, I chewed on my bottom lip.

A scar. He had a scar – one in an unusual shape on his forehead. I had been with him for five years and yet I'd never known he had a scar. For as long as I'd been in his life, his hair had always been long enough to cover his forehead. It should have been an insignificant detail and yet it wasn't. God, it was nothing more than a scar and yet it was the metaphoric final nail in the coffin.

"Sweetheart?" Harry's voice carried into our bedroom from the hall.

"In here!" I managed after clearing my throat.

Eyes focusing on the door, I watched as he settled in the open doorway, searching the room for me. Upon finding me seated on the floor, he walked around the bed and joined me on the floor. With a quiet chuckle, he reached out for the photo album that was open in my lap and didn't move to take it. Instead, he pointed to himself with an awed, "Look how young I look here."

Realising that I had no answer, Harry finally lifted his head to meet my eyes, his smile fading when he noticed that I wasn't looking at the photo anymore. Instead, my eyes were searching his face, trying to combine my Harry with the other Harry in my head; the one that was barely corporal – made up of vague details that I'd gathered over the years.

"Is there something wrong?" He searched my eyes, not believing me when I shook my head. Taking my clasped hands in his, he probed, "You've been unusually quiet all day. Are you annoyed that I brought my friends over without asking you first?"

"Of course not," I managed, finding my voice. "This is your home as well."

Harry, meeting a block in his search for the answer to my behaviour, continued to watch me in silence. Finally removing my hands from beneath his, I evaded Harry's hands as they sought out my own once more. Instead, I brought a single hand up to push the hair away from his forehead, eyes seeking out the scar.

I traced it with my eyes, eventually looking back to his and watching the steady way Harry was looking into my eyes as if he was peering into my brain. He wouldn't speak first; I knew that much.

My words, so tentative because I knew he could refuse to answer, pierced the silence, "How did you get this scar?"

The answer reassuring smile was false. It was too tight, too small and too … not Harry that I didn't buy it for a moment. Despite knowing that I would be able to see right through it, he continued to give me that imposter of a smile. "It's a long story."

"I have enough time."

"Another time," he gave me an empty promise. Clearing his throat, Harry shut the album and tucked it back inside the drawer. Shutting it with a dull thud, he rose to his feet and offered me a hand to help me up. "I found some cake mix in the cupboard; I know you've been craving some."

Ignoring his hand, I rose to my feet by myself, "I think I'll pass; I'm still full from dinner."

* * *

It was one of _those _nights; the nights where Harry would be lost to himself, struggling to cope with his demons in his sleep. And as usual, on one of these nights, I was woken up by all of the tossings and turning that Harry was doing in her sleep. For a moment, I didn't know what to do because it had been so long since he'd last had one of these episodes. As far as I could remember, it had been months. These episodes happened frequently when we first began dating with Harry having them almost every night until they eased slowly into occurring a few times a month until now it seemed he had one every few months.

Coming to my senses, I sat up and reached out to him. It took nothing more than my hand on his arm to have him bolting awake; it was like he was always ready for an attack. Harry's eyes scanned the room wildly, chest rising and falling rapidly as his heart thundered rapidly under my palm. It took a few moments, it always did, for him to realise that he was home, that he was safe. But eventually, his panting eased, his heart slowing and all his panic fleeing away.

Only when Harry's eyes sought my own, did I remove my hand from where it was splayed across his chest. He heaved out a sigh, sitting up and brushing a hand across his sweating forehead. Averting his eyes from mine, the way he did each episode, I embraced him before he could even begin to embrace me like I knew he would. It took a fair moment before Harry let the last of the strain leave him as I continued to embrace him from the side.

Hands running soothingly up and down his back, I pressed a kiss to his shoulder when he slung an arm around my waist as if to draw me even closer to his side. He didn't speak. Neither of us did. The steady ticking of the clock echoed through the room, routing the pair of us in this moment.

"Harry," I managed after a long moment, hoping that he knew he wasn't alone. He didn't have to suffer through any of this on his own.

"I'm alright," he assured me, even as he shifted on the bed so he was facing me. When he embraced me again, Harry burrowed his head into the junction of my neck. His breath fanned unsteadily across my skin and I brought a silent hand up to his hair, raking my fingernails across his scalp in the way I knew comforted him best. He heaved a great sigh as my voice filled the room as I spoke in soft, light murmurs with words meant to comfort him.

I'd seen this all far too often in the men and women who came to me for help; PTSD. Harry was shuddering from PTSD and these dreams forced him to relive whatever triggering event has started his experience with PTSD. My work involved treating sufferers of PTSD and on a daily basis I would offer them council and therapy so I knew the signs. I knew the signs so well that I pinpointed them the moment Harry began to show them whilst in my presence. It was years ago now when I'd first suggested that Harry went to therapy, that he spoke to someone about what he was experiencing. I brought it up every single time he had one of these nightmares and yet – he refused. He'd even refused to speak to me about it, refusing to disclose any such details of the triggering event, of what he dreamt of.

It took a while for me to realise that the most he would let me do was hold him as he put the screaming, fragile parts of his mind back together once more. The mental health professional in me refused to accept that this was all I could do and my heart that bled for Harry each night knew I would do all that he let me do for him. Over the countless nights where I'd held Harry in similar positions, I managed to patch together bits and pieces.

Without fail, he always rambled incoherently about a war, about a bounty on his head. And yet, I knew he'd never served in a war, had never travelled out of the country to a war-torn place. But I dismissed the thoughts before my mind wandered too far. My contemplations could wait a while longer; Harry needed me right now.

* * *

When morning broke, everything was the same as it always was following on from one of his nightmares. Even as we sat, across from one another at the table for breakfast, he wouldn't speak to me about what happened last night. He never did. Once morning broke, it was always as if he wanted to act as if last night had never happened, that we hadn't shared the intimacy of both putting his broken, bleeding self back together once more. Sitting across from him, I found myself repeatedly watching him from over the rim of my mug. Clasping it between two hands, I let the warmth from the tea seep into my hands, biting my tongue to stop myself from probing where I shouldn't. But I'd never been very good at shielding my emotions. Not from Harry.

"What is it?" he asked slowly, setting his own mug down and lifting his eyes towards mine.

For a moment, I didn't answer. I didn't know _how _to answer him, or what words to use in order to say it. Sure, I'd thought about asking him multiple times but to actually be granted the chance to ask him – it had every word fading from my mind. Heart in my throat, I was unable to ask him in case Harry reacted by shutting me out. I had no idea what I'd do if he wound up shutting me out of his life.

"You can ask," he prompted once more as my silence lingered. And, as if knowing that I really didn't have the courage to ask him, he reached across the table to take my waiting hand in his. "You can ask me _anything. _Surely you know that?"

Finally, lifting my eyes from where they settled on our clasped hands, I met his waiting eyes. His glasses remained on the table beside his coffee, giving me a very rare unfiltered glimpse into his eyes. Whenever I stared into those eyes it made me desperately want to meet the woman who gave them to him, if only to thank her for bringing her son into this world so he could _become _my world.

I spoke my question into the silence, but it was nothing more than a murmur. I didn't have the courage to speak it any louder. "What did you dream about last night?"

Uncertain of how he would react, I watched closely as his hand tightened on mine, keeping it firm. It seemed that Harry had no idea how to answer my question. And instead of repeating it, he held my eyes as I continued to watch him. This wasn't something that I could keep putting away – his mental health needed me to speak up or else he'd end up losing himself in amongst the nightmares and flashbacks and I would lose him.

"It was nothing."

"Harry," with a sigh, I turned my hand in his. Linking my fingers through his, I drew his hand closer to me and covered it with my other hand. Cradling it between both mine, I held his eyes insistently. "I think you need to go and speak to someone."

For a long moment, he had no response until he finally turned his eyes away from mine, evading my probing. Finally, he shook his head twice.

"I really think it would help." Reaching out, I grasped his chin in my hand and made him look back towards me. "You're showing signs of PTSD and therapy would be really –"

He stood abruptly, drawing away from me without a word. Without so much as another glance towards me, he picked up his plate and headed into the kitchen. Watching his retreating back, I contemplated remaining here, letting the matter lie in the face of his resistance. But I'd been doing that for so long now and it hadn't helped. So instead, I picked up my own plate and followed him into the kitchen.

"You hide stuff from me," I pointed out as he stood at the sink – not washing up. His hands clutched so tightly at the counter that I silently prayed that he would forgive me for pushing because surely, he couldn't love me when I was knowingly making him face his demons. Even if he loved me a little less right now, I could only hope that once he'd gotten the help he needed, he would love me again as much as he did now.

He spoke without looking at me. "I'm not"

"You do. You hide everything and it's not healthy. Not for you, not for me and definitely not for our relationship."

"Will you just drop it?" he demanded, finally turning to face me and it was the gathering of unshed tears in his eyes that had me clamming up. Rather it wasn't the tears but it was the visible effort he was putting into not letting them spill from his eyes. "_Please._"

Swallowing thickly, I nodded just once and Harry sighed out, relieved. We both knew how this pattern went – we wouldn't speak, not properly anyway, for a couple of days now.

* * *

Sure enough, we didn't speak properly for a couple of days. It took a few days for either of us to speak about anything of any substance and this time, for once, Harry was the one to take the first step by bringing up the topic

Upon returning home from work, I found Harry sitting and waiting for me in our bedroom. He greeted me softly, accepting when I greeted him in turn and continued to wait for me as I changed out of my work clothes into my more comfortable home clothes. Tying the string of my pyjama trousers, I glanced expectantly towards Harry who offered me yet another hesitant smile.

"Harry?" I prompted softly.

Silently, he held out a hand towards me and I took it. Linking our fingers together, he drew me closer to his side and waited until I sat beside him on our mattress. And then, when he was certain that I wasn't going to be walking away, he turned to face me. Still, he continued to hold my hand, playing with my fingers.

I studied Harry for a good moment, looking him over and wondering that for once, for the first time, he had actually given me an unhindered glimpse into the true strain on his face; just how much weight was he carrying on his shoulders? Heart in my throat, I reached out for his face, cradling it gently with one hand and running my thumb soothingly back and forth across the stubble growing on his chin.

"I'm sorry," he breathed out the words with a sigh. "Merlin, I'm sorry."

Biting my tongue, I held back from probing any further. Instead, I said a quiet, "Harry."

"You're right," he said eventually, lifting his head so he could watch me from beneath his lashes. "I have been hiding stuff from you and it's not good for our relationship."

When he stopped talking this time, I continued to watch him. If I interrupted him as he was speaking, chances where he would lose whatever it was, he had intended to say. So instead, I waited patiently, willing to sit and wait for as long as he needed me to. Even if I had to sit here beside him all night.

Swallowing nervously, he accepted, "I haven't been completely honest with you."

"- Harry."

"I'll tell you everything now," he promised. Suddenly resolute, he lifted his head, searching my eyes. Nodding more to himself than to me, Harry gathered his hands together in his lap. "I promise not to hide anything from you and I'll tell you everything, sweetheart."

"Thank you," I accepted with a small smile. As much as I wanted that to be the full extent of the issues, it wasn't. There was still more that we needed to address. "But you know that you need to talk to someone about everything; I just want what's best for you."

"I know that – and I love you for it." With a deep exhale, he finally – _finally _– agreed. "I will, I'm going to look into it and speak to someone. If only to stop interrupting your night's sleep."

Unable to help the slight incredulous laugh, I shook my head, "Do it for yourself. But if you're looking for someone, I can give you the details of one of my colleagues?"

"I'd like that." And then, with everything seemingly laid bare between the pair of us, it was easier for us to smile at each other. Harry, looking as if part of the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders, took my hand in his and pressed a gentle kiss to it, all whilst keeping his eyes on mine. With a soft laugh, I grabbed his hand and did the same.

"Sweetheart?" he probed hesitantly once more. Nodding silently, I waited for him to speak properly. "I know – I promised to tell you the truth and I think I'd like to start today."

Holding my hands together, I kept my eyes on his and massaged my fingers slowly. Just what was he going to tell me about and why did it look like that whatever he was going to say was going to turn my world upside down? Regardless, I silently braced myself with nothing more than a deep breath.

"I think – I think maybe I should start by telling you about my parents."

"Your parents? I thought – I thought they were murdered?"

"They were." He breathed out sharply, whatever he was going to say was taxing him. Reaching out, I grabbed his hand, giving him the support, he needed for whatever they were going to say. "Merlin, you're not going to believe a single word I say."

"Try me."


	2. Epilogue: 2 Years Later

_2 YEARS LATER_

When Harry first confessed to me the truth of his life, of the existence of magic – I'd thought his mental health issues had gone deeper than I'd ever thought. Part of me had wanted to have him sectioned and given the help the needed to deal with his delusions. But that was only until I'd actually seen his wand and had seen him cast a spell. And then, once Harry had reminded me to breathe, I was certain that _I _had gone insane. It was safe to say that it had taken me a rather long time to come to terms with everything. Maybe that was why now, over 2 years after Harry had told me the truth – less than a month after our wedding – I'd agreed to let Harry show me the Wizarding world.

From the moment I'd given him my consent, Harry had started to plan an entire itinerary of things we needed to do and see. Somehow, what I'd thought would be a day trip was looking more and more like a weeklong holiday where I had been roped into spending a night in the Burrow. Seeing Harry so overjoyed had me agreeing in a heartbeat.

Apparently, it was only right that I started my trip with Diagon Alley – because Diagon Alley was the first place Harry had visited in the Wizarding World.

Finally stepping foot in the bustling street, I looked around in wonder despite clinging to Harry's arm so as to not get lost in the crowd. The more I saw of the shops and the more I studied the items in the shop windows, the more I wondered just how Harry could have spent so many years in the Muggle world. How could he have gone those years with no magic? Because I knew, that the refuge he'd sought away from the traumas of his early life, had him using very little magic. The only magic he had used was when he was working as an Auror. And _God, _that job was doing no favours for the mental strain that he was under.

Harry's arm tightened around my waist, drawing me closer to the cobblestone pathways to stop me from bumping into the people around us. People that were watching me with curious eyes and I understood that they were curious because of Harry's 'Boy Hero' status but I still found myself reaching out for his comfort. Knowing me like the back of his hand, Harry drew closer to me until his chest was against my back as if to physically shield me from prying eyes as I studied the owls in the shop windows.

"Do you want one?" Harry asked amused against my ears, already knowing my answer. "If you could, you'd have an entire aviary set up in our house."

"Don't you need one anyway?" I protested, letting him take me by the hand as he led me away. "You know, for your letters?"

"We can get one later," he assured me. Looking down at me with a smile, Harry seemed to pay no heed to the way people were looking at him. He didn't so much as glance at the crowd of people who were practically following us – him step for step because of his sudden reappearance into the public of Wizarding Britain.

"You know," I murmured as we approached a pub. The Leaky Cauldron, Harry said as we reached the door, "I thought you were lying when you told me you were famous."

"I wish," he grumbled under his breath, dropping my hand to open the door for me. The scowl on Harry's face, unwanted and completely ruining the good mood he'd had all day, was wiped away in the next instant when I pecked him on the cheek on my way inside.

Following closely behind me, Harry took my hand once more and looked around the room. The pub thankfully wasn't as busy as the street outside it was. But the few patrons of the pub did shoot a curious lingering glance towards us before finally returning to whatever they had been doing before our entry.

"Remind me again," I started, looking at Harry who was searching the room, clearly looking for someone, "who are we meeting here again?"

"Someone special." Frustrated at Harry's lack of clear answer, I scowled up at Harry who just chuckled before leading me further into the room. We approached one of the corners of the room and my eyes lingered on a man – a _huge _man who remained hunched over at a table, looking over a piece of paper with something scribbled on it.

"Is he – is he a giant?" I whispered to Harry when the unfamiliar man spotted Harry.

"Part," Harry whispered back.

"Part?" I murmured incredulously as the part giant rose to his feet. My eyes looked him over, watching as he smoothed down his shirt as if to get rid of all the creases and I couldn't help my smile. I was a little charmed by him.

"Hagrid," Harry finally called out towards the other man and I remembered then, this was the man that had introduced Harry to the Wizarding World.

The one that Harry wrote to almost every week and I _swore _I'd see him bake a birthday cake for a couple of months back. And, as I drew closer towards Hagrid, who was talking to Harry but sneaking glances towards me, I caught sight of the paper he had been studying. It looked like he'd rehearsed how he was going to introduce himself to me. God, I was _more _than a little charmed by him.

"Hagrid," I called out eventually, realising that he was struggling to speak to me. "I'm really happy to meet you. Harry's told me so much about you."

"He has?" Hagrid's cheeks flushed red as Harry chucked under his breath, pressing a kiss to my cheek as we approached the table. "He's – he writes a lot about you as well."


End file.
